Bloody Lips
by BlackRaptor93
Summary: Frode Skyshimmer, Listener of The Dark Brotherhood asks something of Babette that will change his life forever.   Skyrim   Contains Violence and Gore   Minor Babette x OC if you squint.   Ongoing
1. Chapter 1

This is chapter one of my new series. I fell in love with Babette from the moment I first saw her in the sanctuary. Everything about her to me is so awesome, and I've wanted to do this fanfiction for a very long time. I own nothing presented in this story but Frode Skyshimmer, my Nordic assassin. I hope you enjoy this chapter and please, tell me what you think!  
>-<p>

After what seemed like an eternity did the bulky Nord finally manage to excuse himself and retire to his chamber. It was not that he wasn't glad to see his family again – by any stretch – but simply that he'd travelled a very long way very quickly. The last contract had been an Imperial hunter who found pleasure with other's spouses – and someone had found out. Naturally, not only did he have to travel all the way down to Riften, but the client was very clear on making it look like an accident. Thank Sithis that the exact details of that where left up to the Listener himself, because it took him no more a few hours after his arrival to set up an unfortunate encounter with a very aggressive cave bear for the Imperial, which most certainly did not end well. It was a relatively small and simple contract, but the travelling always took it out of him – but thank Sithis that the Night Mother sensed her Listener's weariness and allowed him a few short days of respite. Frode Skyshimmer rolled over onto his right side, eyes flickering over the many cracks in the stone wall as he lost himself in thought.

In truth, Frode had never expected to join The Dark Brotherhood and become a murderer. Nor had he expected to care so deeply for them all, this gathering of murderers. So much so that he had grieved for two days in private when all was said and done and they had moved to the sanctuary just outside of Dawnstar. He couldn't bring himself to imagine what he would do if he lost those he had remaining. Frode decided to banish that line of thought as quickly as possible, and let out a small sigh. There was a sudden presence behind him on the bed that had he been anywhere else - or indeed had it been anyone else – would have made him put a blade to the offending person's throat. As it was, he knew perfectly well who had gotten into bed.

"Listener, is something troubling you?" Spoke the voice from over his shoulder, tinged slightly with concern. Frode smiled gently – a genuine smile – and rolled over onto his back, enough so he could see the small shape; one hand tucked under her head and the other by her side. Babette, possibly the most brilliant alchemist in all of Skyrim, a three hundred year old Breton vampire trapped in the body of a ten year old and most importantly, his family. Not his only family in the sanctuary, but perhaps the one he cared the most for. She also had a habit, whether through her own sense of companionship or his own, of climbing into bed with him on the days he slept through. He had no objections, of course. He sometimes mused that perhaps she sometimes tried it with Nazir, though Frode doubted it would go quite so well.

"Babette, it is unusual for you to care so much." He murmured lightly with a soft chuckle, eyes flickering to her. Her eyes met his blue ones before a small smile perked the corner of her lips, in a way that was not entirely fitting on such a young face, but as he constantly reminded himself, her body simply had not aged as her mind had.

"It is unusual for you to be so asocial. I find it hard to get rid of you most days." She countered sweetly. Babette was brilliant at acting; such was her main skill as an assassin. She could get into places that none of the physically older looking members could, and generally go unnoticed and could use her natural appeal as a young, innocent girl to her advantage, and she certainly knew it. But in this case it certainly was true; if Babette was not busy or on a contract of her own, she could often be found teaching Frode alchemy – something he'd really taken to since he'd joined the family. What an arrow alone could not do, one dipped in poison could. Regardless, it was enough to make the Nord laugh.

"A fair one," He grinned; pushing himself up so he was staring down the long hallway towards the central chamber of the Sanctuary. "I am just tired, Babette. That contract was simple, but to travel half of Skyrim there and back in under two days was certainly a push even by my standards."

She studied him then in silence; the only sound being of his breathing. He found it slightly unnerving – not out of anything Babette was doing, simply that he had never liked silence. In silence he found his brain resorted to thinking on issues he did not wish to think about consciously. He waited for several moments before the vampire moved down the bed enough that she could look up at his face. He met her gaze for as long as he could before his eyes faltered and he was forced to look away; focussing instead on the set of ancient brotherhood armour he'd put on the mannequin to keep its shape. He only wore it if he felt the occasion special enough, and right now his eyes took in every detail in an effort to escape what was growing at the back of his mind.

"Brother, I have been around for three hundred years. I know when something else is bothering you." She finally said. Her tone was not exactly demanding, but Frode knew that one way or the other, she would get it out of him. She was persistent and when it came to her family, doubly so. Though at times her demeanour was one of indifference, Frode knew she grieved as much – if not more – for those she had lost in the attack than he had. He tensed slightly before sighing and looking to her.

"It would be an insult to lie to you, Sister." He murmured softly, finally meeting her gaze. He felt like a child again, being forced to admit something he didn't want to. Like the time he'd pushed his brother into the nest of Hornets then ran home laughing, forgetting his brother would swell up like a balloon. His mother hadn't been best pleased with him. But it hardly mattered now, both his mother and brother where dead. "I have been thinking long and hard. Since we moved here, actually – I was wondering if you might..."

"You want to become like me." Babette spoke with such suddenness and simplicity that Frode lapsed into stunned silence. He looked to her, eyes widening slightly. He immediately cursed himself; how could he even think to ask that of her? He was about to apologise when she spoke again. "You are not the first one to ask this of me, Listener."

There was silence after that; Frode chewed his lip and looked away. "I am sorry Sister, I shouldn't have asked that." He sighed softly and ran his hands through his shaggy brown hair, eyes closing. He felt Babette gently lay her small hands on his cheeks and he frowned quietly, opening his eyes once more to watch her expression. It was, as always, all but unreadable. He leant into her touch just a little bit, still concerned by her silence, before she spoke.

"Is it what you really want?" Babette asked him. "It is not a decision you should make lightly, Brother. Your life will never be the same again. I am willing to turn you, if it is what you want."

Frode was stunned once more into silence. He looked at her – stared, really – in shock. He had seen and heard many things since coming to Skyrim, but never did he think he would hear Babette say that. He had gathered – not so much through her words, as she did not speak of it – that her own turning had not been one of free will. The fact that she was offering to pass it on to him was something that he could not have prepared himself for. He looked to Babette before he nodded firmly.

"It is, Sister." He breathed, his voice cracking just a fraction. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he realized with a small sense of amusement that the only other time he had been so utterly nervous was when he held a blade to the Emperor's throat. Apparently he equated the two on some level, which in a way was natural. It was not as if he was going for a new look. This would change everything he had ever known, and everything he would know. He noted Babette nodded slightly in return.

"After it is done and you are like me, I will teach you how to live as a Vampire. You will be incredibly thirsty in your first few days and very irrational as a result, and it would be most unfortunate to lose our new members so quickly." Babette smirked softly, enough to expose one fang, pausing for a moment to straighten her dress. He frowned gently.

"What of Nazir? Will you inform him? What if I-" He started, but Babette gently shushed him.

"You will not. Hungry as you are not going to be a mindless animal. You love him as much as you do me, yes? Then there is nothing to worry about." She assured him in a calm, gentle tone. He smiled lightly and nodded, frowning as she gently pushed him back down onto the bed and straddled his chest, hands on his shoulders. He watched her with a vaguely worried expression before she murmured.

"If I had known, I would have made a numbing agent. But as it is better to get this out the way, this is going to hurt, Listener, and hurt a lot. But I will do my best not to prolong your suffering." She gently leant down, kissing his neck gently. He felt a genuine thrill of fear, and for a second he had the sudden realization of what it must be like for those who Babette was contracted to kill. Of course, they had little idea that this little girl was strong enough to bite straight through their throat. She raised her head enough to whisper into his ear.

"Close your eyes, Brother."

And then her lips withdrew and there was a sharp, horrendous pain in his throat. His back arched and his eyes filled with tears, but he could not make a sound. Babette's hands clamped like the grip of a python and pushed him back against the bed as his fingers curled into fists so hard he thought he'd crush them. The pain in his neck did not wane but waxed; growing and spreading through his entire body. He choked out an animal sound of pain, his vision becoming dim as he felt the sharp points of her teeth withdraw; her hand moving to cover the wound. He could see her as a indistinct hazy shape with no features; his entire body began to relax as unconsciousness threatened him. She bent over and lightly kissed him on the lips, leaving a coppery taste there that he realized with some morbid fascination was his own blood.

"I love you, My Listener." She whispered soothingly before the world fell away and he was plunged into darkness. 


	2. Chapter 2

**I'd like to thank all my reviewers for their critique! I'm glad you're enjoying it, and I hope this second chapter doesn't disappoint! I personally don't believe it is as good as the first one, but perhaps you will. Thanks again!**

The world was a pain filled haze, indistinct and unformed, like the primordial ebbs and flows of magic itself. There was no sense of time or space, or even consciousness of self. How long it had been so, Frode could not say. He could not remember where he was; it was almost as if he was within the grasp of a trance, for his body would not respond. But now something cut through this veil; muffled and whispered at first, but gradually growing louder.

"Babette, it has been three days and he has not yet awoken. If you have killed him, by Sithis I'll-" The first voice was thick, heavy, and angry. It frightened him almost, in a way he could not explain, as if it were some almighty deity come to smite him down itself. Yet it was not himself he felt concern for – there was no threat to his life, but something tugged at him, something else, and it took him several moments to realize that he was defensive, not frightened. Then there was anger, a furious tempo that smothered his brain and rational thought, because the threat was at the one named Babette; the one his brain could not identify but within his breast he felt something his mind could not make sense of.

"He shall, Nazir. I can feel him inside my head." A brief pause and a soft, light chuckle "He did not take too kindly to that threat." said the voice that made him relax and shrink down inside a warm place that now lay at the back of his mind. A second heartbeat; as though someone else now existed within him. It took him several long moments of concentration for his spinning mind pull through the mire of its own indecision and focus itself before he sank back into place like a switch flicking on. His eyes snapped open and the sudden blinding stream of light made him groan and close them again. He heard Nazir give a sigh of relief and muttered something under his breath that the Nord couldn't quite catch.

Frode timidly opened his eyes once more; the light becoming more bearable now. His vision snapped into focus; he found himself watching a small spider – barely the size of a finger nail – crawling across the ceiling. Yet it took him several moments to realize he should not have been able to see something so small; at least not naturally. His brow furrowed before he finally remembered what had been done to him and he felt a smile touch his lips. He sat up now; Nazir was standing at the foot of his bed with a carefully mediated expression; but his eyes betrayed the fact he was incredibly wary. By contrast, Babette was far more relaxed in herself – she was standing by his side, the corner of her lip upturned in a smirk.

"You are skilled at playing dead, Brother." She murmured, eyes watching his face. His mind caught something, a stray abstract thought that made him blink and stare at her – because it did not come from his mind at all, but hers. It was fear – she truly did not know if he would survive the change. She had never doubted him, he felt, but she had been genuinely afraid of causing his death – simply not externally. No, Babette was far too skilled to let her emotions show. Frode opened his mouth to laugh when it finally, and abruptly, sunk in he wasn't actually drawing breath. His eyes widened in pure instinctual panic and his hands shot to his chest – no heartbeat could be felt under his palm. He was dead, and that sent the primal side of his brain into what can only be described as mayhem. Before he could do anything else, Babette reached out and grasped his wrists gently but firmly. "You have no need to breathe, Listener. Calm yourself, and let the panic pass."

He closed his eyes, ignoring the fact his brain was screaming at him and threatening to tip him over the brink of sanity that he was a living corpse now, and focussed himself, allowed his training to overtake him. It took him a minute or so but he finally opened his eyes and smiled softly at Babette, who released his wrists smartly. He noted her touch was warm now, not cool as it had once been. It had never been unpleasant, but he assumed it had something to do with what he was now. His eyes flickered to Nazir, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"If either of you need me, I'll be in the hall." He spoke, before turning and walking out, trying his best not to display more than he had to. Frode frowned and went to follow him, but Babette reached out to stop him.

"It took him a long time to accept me for what I was, Brother, as it will for him to accept what you now are. I believe he had a bad experience when he was younger with one of our kind." She spoke as she climbed to sit upon the bed beside him. Frode turned to the girl; eyes scanning hers. He went to ask her something, but once more she pre-empted him. It was rather unnerving in a sense, but it also held a deep form of comfort. "We are linked now Listener, you and I. I can read your thoughts as you can my own, for I sired you. There are a great many things you must learn about being a vampire, but I shall not burden you with them all now."

Frode nodded his head lightly, looking down at himself. His skin looked so pale; far more than it had in life. It was not exactly frightening – after all, he had spent a great amount of time around Babette – but it certainly was different. He watched her as she moved to stand; a small smile of amusement touching his lips as she literally dropped off the bed. Her size was not always a blessing when it came to mundane tasks.

"But one I must teach you is how we feed. I do not wish to be held responsible if one of our Initiates where to lose their throat." She murmured with a smirk, and gently reached out with one hand to grasp his and tug him to his feet. Frode blinked at her, partially amused, partially unsure. She smiled now, like a child, and pulled him out of his room before he could say much of anything else. He found comfort in her grip, safety and security, a sense of belonging that encompassed him. Was it because she was his creator? But he had little time to think, for something else began to stir in his mind. It was primal, and it was powerful. He realized how dry and sore his throat was, as though he had rubbed it raw, how he could smell something so sweet it made him purr like a contented Saber Cat. His mind flashed with images of torn throats, of the sweet life force running into him and soothing the ache. He felt Babette squeeze his hand a little tighter; she was feeling what he was. With barely a sound she pulled him upstairs without a word to Nazir or the initiates before Frode could pull away from her himself; he was panting now, running his tongue over the new elongated canines he possessed.

He had little time to react before the freezing air of outside struck him; snapped his mind from the haze it was in. The great black door to the sanctuary swung closed of its own violation, and Frode lifted his head; it was the dead of night. The stars shone high above and the large rounded moon dominated the blackness between – it was rather beautiful, Frode thought. He had seen it a hundred times before, but never quite like this. As a Nord, the cold environment of Skyrim had done little to him; now he could not feel the touch of the icy snow he crunched underfoot or the harsh winds that struck his body. The Nord looked down at Babette who seemed for a moment within her own little world, before she looked up at him with something close to adoration in her eyes.

"Welcome to your new life, Brother." She whispered softly, her voice carried away by the wind. He smiled broadly at her, before she gently took his hand once more and led him up the slope and atop the great black door towards the thick forest, away from Dawnstar itself. He felt something in her mind, as though something had changed when she had sired him – though he did not know what. When she spoke again, it was business as usual, which made him smirk beside himself. "You must never feed from animals for their blood will make you ill, something even I cannot cure. We need not kill, though I imagine you will have little restraint when warm blood touches your lips. Go for the throat, and do not hesitate. As you felt within the sanctuary, you can hear the blood inside a body from a great distance. Use that now."

Frode felt his mind flicker; morality. He did not kill those who did not deserve it by principle – yet a part of him argued he had little choice. Babette knew what she spoke of, after all, as well as she knew how he felt. He had little trouble with the act of killing his contracts, or those who struck him, yet his new hunger sung to him the sweetest melody. It cared not from where the blood came; only that it did. He nodded finally though; moving off deeper into the woodland. He could hear many heartbeats of the various animals, but one shone through. It was frantic, fuelled by adrenaline and pain. He paused, as did Babette, and turned just in time to see a man burst through the brush and run straight for him with such panic Frode doubted he had even registered the pair of Vampires.

Frode scanned the figure with his eyes far quicker than he could have done previously. Middle aged, probably Imperial. Lanky black hair and a thick beard; simple hide armour that was rent across his stomach, as though he had been attacked by a wild animal – it had not been enough to seriously injure, however. By all accounts, it was a glancing blow and draw blood. The man had no weapons, yet his fingers where curled in a white knuckle death grip and his eyes kept frantically darting all around the small clearing they were in. He had little time to notice Frode before instinct took over and he pounced, springing like an animal himself and burying his fangs into the Imperial's throat. Blood rushed down his throat and Frode's body sung with relief; he swallowed and gulped it down without a pause, eyes closing. It was beyond compare, far sweeter than anything he could possibly imagine. He drank and drank as the world around him faded away; he lost himself in the crimson liquid until it ran dry.

He was light headed; the pain in his throat was gone and he felt strong; powerful, ready to take on anything. He went to laugh, before something stopped him. Fear – not his own, though, but Babette's. He blinked in confusion before he felt her hand touch his shoulder – she was shaking like a leaf. "Listener..." She whispered – almost a whimper. That was enough to frighten even him, because he had known Babette long enough to believe that there was nothing in her age that could frighten her. And if something did frighten her, it was serious, and dangerous. He looked up in the direction the man had came from in his frantic attempts to escape, and his face dropped.

Two gleaming yellow eyes stared right back at him from the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you once more to my reviewers! I'm not very good at writing fight scenes but I hope you find this entertaining as usual! Do not worry; this is far from the last chapter though! Thanks again and enjoy!**  
>-<p>

The Werewolf pushed its way through the thick brush, nostrils flaring to draw in the air around it. Frode blinked in surprise – it was not like those he had seen caged and slaughtered by the Silver Hand when he had visited Gallows Rock. It was smaller than they, perhaps as tall as Frode himself. It had a much more pronounced muzzle and head that was far more lupine-like. The beast was covered in a fine coat of grey fur on its front, though the fur grew noticeably darker as it wrapped around the Werewolf's back, and it had no fur at all on its hands or feet. which tapered into a thick bushy tail. The fur grew noticeably darker as it wrapped around the Werewolf's back, and it had no fur at all on its hands or feet. In his youth he had heard tales of the Werewolves that inhabited Solstheim. Was it possible that one had wound up in Skyrim and had been hunting the frozen north? He reached out with one hand and simultaneously pushed Babette behind him gently while stepping between her and the Werewolf.

The Werewolf's muzzle wrinkled back to expose a mouth full of bone crunching teeth as it growled at them, causing Frode to take a step back. He was trying to fight down his rising fear. He was not armed, and if this creature was anything like those of Skyrim, nothing short of silver would do serious damage to it – and turning to run would make it chase them. Not to mention the slightly more horrifying revelation that he had no blades or arrows – he had left them inside the Sanctuary. Babette was shaking; he could feel it from behind him as she pressed up against his back.

"Brother..." He heard her whisper, her voice laced with genuine fear. He reached back and squeezed her hand as the Werewolf took a step forward, head low and swaying, saliva dripping from between its teeth. Babette whimpered softly and something in him changed; something smothered him so suddenly and utterly he clasped a hand to his chest. Something in him swelled and burst free until he was so consumed by it that he could think of nothing else. He would not allow this creature to hurt what was his. The thing he loved. If he had to die then so be it, but he would allow no harm to befall Babette. His lip quivered, eyes narrowing into slits as he snarled; a sound so inhuman it even gave the Werewolf pause. It reared back for a moment, watching him, before it snarled right back at him, baring its fangs. Frode knew however small this Lycanthrope was to not underestimate it; to do so would be foolish. Though he was stronger than he had ever been while alive, he could see the way the Wolf's muscles bulged and rippled as it moved – it would not be easy and he would have to push himself to his newfound limits

"Babette, back up. Be slow." He murmured softly to her, keeping his eyes on the Werewolf at all times. Her mind was a mess of fear; she was barely clinging to her rationality. It reminded him briefly that for all she was grown up mentally, she had never stopped truly being a child somewhere inside and that was manifesting right now. "Do not get involved. I don't want to see you hurt."

He listened as she backed up, retreating to the tree line – trying to ignore her blinding worry for him. Now knowing she was somewhat safe, he stepped forward and snarled a challenge, and that was all it took. With a roar the Werewolf charged, ending in a series of leaps that took it into the air and straight for him, all claws and fangs. Frode grunted and dropped to the floor as he ran, using the snow to slide himself straight under the pouncing Werewolf. The creature yelped as it slammed hard into the hard ground and rolled as Frode gained his feet and rushed it again. It was just as quick though and lashed out as Frode rushed to meet it; the Nord was barely able to duck low enough so the claws sliced through the air rather than his face and struck the Werewolf with a ferocious tackle to the stomach. The action knocked the wind from the creature and took them both to the floor, Frode on top as he began to pummel it's snout with his fists, throwing all the power he could into his blows. It howled and thrashed as he felt its nose burst under his furious assault, and Frode could not stay atop it.

He rolled aside and it lunged after him with barely a second's pause, jaws snapping shut inches from him, claws pulling it along the snow. It lunged again and Frode kicked it square in its ruined snout, making it yelp and draw back for a precious few seconds in pain. Frode gained his feet and danced back as it lashed out again – but this time, not far enough. The claws tore through his left leg and he cried out in pain, almost losing his balance. It started to rise once more, and Frode knew he would have to end it soon. He gathered himself and sprung right over the rising creature, turning on a dime and throwing himself onto its back. It grunted and slammed hard to the ground, barking and thrashing as he snaked an arm around its large throat and began to squeeze – hard. It bucked and writhed as his grip tightened like that of a snake, crushing the air from the Wolf's lungs. It was powerful and strong, but with his weight it couldn't rear up and bring its claws to bear. Its eyes began to bug out and Frode grinned; it could no longer hold itself up. He tensed and used all the strength he had; the Werewolf gave one final choked whine and gave up, its body going limp.

The Vampire held on for several moments longer, to make sure. Finally he released his grip and staggered to his feet; it took him several moments to remember what exactly it was he was meant to be doing – then it hit him. He turned and sprinted over to where he had left Babette. She was there, alright, looking utterly horrified and possibly on the verge of a breakdown, shaking like a leaf. He gently – ever so gently – reached down and scooped her up in his arms. Instead of resisting as she usually would, she allowed him to do so; slinging her arms around his neck as he leaned back against the tree and cradled her.

"It is done, Sister. It can't hurt you." He murmured soothingly to her, clutching her to his chest. He could feel now that his entire body ached; his left leg felt as if it was on fire. But he would tend to that later. He felt her slowly begin to relax in his grip and she snuffled in a way that was all too adorable. He gave a small smile, reaching up to run his fingers through her hair with his free hand. He closed his eyes and gave a small smile as he heard her speak.

"Thank you, Brother." She breathed softly into his ear, as sweet as a bell. He went to put her down; but instead she responded by clinging tighter to his neck. "Can we stay like this, Listener, for a little while?" She murmured and he smiled and nodded, sinking down to sit against the tree, holding her in his lap. It was more comforting than words could possibly express. Of course, if he ever breathed a word of this to anyone she'd probably punch him into next week. He chuckled softly at the thought and went back to stroking her hair. He winced as he touched his wound to the cold now, but after a while it began to settle down. Apparently the resistance to cold that being dead offered didn't extend to the perception of pain, something he found to be odd. But still, he doubted he'd get answers to his questions anytime soon.

After a while Babette released her hold on his neck and curled up against his chest. She wasn't asleep, but content. He smiled lightly and looked up at the moon for a moment, before down to her. She was beautiful, in her own way, and this was a rare side of her he doubted many had seen in her three hundred years. It showed that for all her knowledge, attitude and demeanour, she was still a child inside somewhere, simply an incredibly smart one, and all children needed comfort now and again. He reached down and ever so gently took her hand, prompting her to link fingers with him, though it was weak – dawn was fast approaching, and even he was beginning to feel the effects of his altered sleep patterns. If they fell asleep out here, it would do them no good. He slowly gained his feet, still carrying her, and began to walk back in the direction of the sanctuary.

"I won't let anything hurt you, Sister." He murmured softly to her, watching as a very small smile touched her lips. He once again could feel the mental adoration welling in her mind, as it did for him. She tilted her head slightly, burying it into his chest again.

"And even death shall not hold you as tight as I, my Listener." She replied softly a small voice, before she relaxed utterly and surrendered herself to sleep. Frode smiled warmly at the child Vampire, and trudged through the fading night.


End file.
